Changes
by Vixen of Light
Summary: You're not together to feel the changes. Nothing's the same. Is it worth trying? Koumi


A/N: Happy belated new year. I know I'm evil for vanishing off the face of the universe and I am painfully, totally Writers Block-ed hence a) the lack of writing and b) this. I have a few things in mind but I wanted to make sure you know I'm still alive so this came out. . .  
  
Koumi. I know I said I like Jyomi but I have a soft spot for Koumi. I also know this is quite abrupt. Call it a first airing. If it seems OK to you, I may leave it or revise it or something. I quite like the idea, anyway. Changes happen but some things are immovable.  
  
It was only after actually writing it I remembered how young they were in the Digital World at first. Damn. Nevertheless, I let it go - anyway, this is a sort of sweet, childlike relationship, and that could happen at 12, and they're about 16 now, so it could be that way. . .*winces* I also know it sounds kinda last-ditch and negative. It's open ended.  
  
-  
  
The girl twirled a single lock of her vibrant hair around a finger. Her green tea sat untouched in front of her, slowly congealing in the cup. It almost reminded her of the place she now called home.  
  
The boy watched the movement, lips slightly parted. She looked untouchable, but he had seen her at her weakest moments, and even now he could see beneath her façade, see the traces of brown roots beneath the rose hair dye, see the flickers of fragility at the backs of her eyes.  
  
You changed, he thought. He had watched her grow in the Digital World, he had thought, maybe, she had reached her height of change, a flower finally meeting the light. She had lost none of her kindness, her sincerity, but what was missing was the fragility that had touched him at unexpected moments, the innocence. City lights and popular culture had beaten it out of her. Many would have said she had grown up, but no, he had witnessed firsthand her growth. Now it was only change. She had seen and lived things he had no comprehension of.  
  
You changed, she thought. The sharp mind had a slightly sarcastic edge, dry humour she was now able to appreciate. He was taller, carried himself with more confidence in himself. She had noticed that from the moment he had walked into the little café, alone. He looked her in the eyes with feeling, not just intellect, as he once had. But he was still the little boy who had brought her a flower, many years ago, who had taught her how to use email, watched her at cheerleading practice where before he would not have wanted to go near the football pitch.  
  
For both of them, it was strange to see her back in Japan, where images of impossible adventures still haunted memories, where a laughing, skipping pink-clad girl racing along, hand in hand with a short, red haired boy, blushes staining his cheeks. As he had walked to meet her, the images seemed reflected in shop windows, and he had wondered why fate had asked it of the, that they grow up apart. Wondered if they could ever have that guileless, trusting, total sort of relationship again.  
  
"How is. . ."  
  
"What's up with. . ."  
  
They both laughed, embarrassed, and glanced away from each other for a moment, simultaneous in every movement. She dropped the lock of hair and lifted the cup to her glossed lips, taking a tiny sip. The movement was definite, none of the girlish twist of the hand she would have once displayed. The cup was placed back on the table with a 'click'.  
  
"How is New York? Weather alright? Palmon fine?"  
  
She sighed. "So much small talk?"  
  
He was a little taken aback at the bluntness, but had no reply. He wasn't sure what to speak about. It had been a lot easier, it had seemed much less like small talk, in emails, even on the phone, quick, expensive promises of missing each other and tentative emotional exchanges.  
  
"We grew up, didn't we?" Her voice was slightly hesitant. "We're not the same people," To her surprise he smiled, softly. "That does happen. Things develop and grow. We've both seen things apart from each other now. . .before we were always together. Its. . .harder."  
  
She glanced to the red and white tiled floor, feeling the sting of tears in her eyes, certain where the conversation was going. "Its hard to be apart. . .I missed you, I thought of you every day." And she had. There was a slightly battered picture of the two of them pinned to her gold-gilded mirror, right at the top.  
  
"We've changed before. It makes us stronger, you know. And nothing I feel . . has changed."  
  
She looked up, and for the first time their eyes met, and held. There was mystery there, but there always had been. Complimentary opposites, the two of them. They balanced perfectly, Tarot lovers, mirror images. It was what made them so perfect. If he complicated, she would make simple. If she gave emotionalism, he gave intellect. It bound them together, in some way, and nothing as petty as miles could touch that, surely. . . ?  
  
"We could make it work," she whispered. "You must believe it," Ah, some of that old innocent faith surfacing again. So perhaps she was still the little girl beneath the sophisticated surface, maybe he was still the little boy beneath the newly-gained confidence. "We were fighters once. Some things are worth fighting for. . ." Her voice was soft. 'Fighter' and her were such unrelated ideas, and yet. . .the strength she now openly possessed had been seen before. She had raised an army of Digimon, she had stood by the sides of her comrades.  
  
She read his expression perfectly. "We haven't changed, so much," she whispered, offering her hand to him. He slowly reached across the table and rested his slightly damp palm on her soft skin. "We always could have been what we are now, we always will be what we were then,"  
  
"Sometimes I forget how clearly you see life," he said. It was too easy to dismiss her as a thoughtless girl, but her clarity saw through the layers of complexity he himself saw.  
  
She pouted, eyes sparkling. Those eyes hadn't changed, he noted. They saw more than they once had, but the soul behind them had the same qualities. "I know more than you think!"  
  
He nodded. "And I know less than you think, in truth,"  
  
She smiled at that, and her hand twisted round to hold his, squeezed the fingers. "You know enough, so do I. Isn't that all we can hope for sometimes?"  
  
"Is this goodbye?" The words left his mouth before he could stop them. Her expression was saddened, but she did not let go of his hand.  
  
"Why?" Her guileless question, those old innocent eyes, made him tremble slightly.  
  
"Because part of me doesn't know you any more, and part of me won't let go of how we once knew each other. . ."  
  
"Shouldn't they cancel each other out?" Her simple reasoning made a twisted sense. "We took years to grow, we had years together, we can have years to try. . ."  
  
"I want to be with you. I want more than the past."  
  
"We could have it!" her voice was urgent, her eyes pleading, but with a spark of determination behind them. Love conquers all. . .he hated clichés. But he still fell for them.  
  
"For you, I'll try. . ." For her, he'd become a fighter again. For her, and for himself. Of all the things she taught him, belief was the strongest. It seemed very simple, to just say 'It will work' and yet. . .when she did it, it did work. Maybe she could teach that to him.  
  
They left their cups, hers sipped, touched with gloss, and his untouched, and left together. Neither of them saw the reflection in the window, but it was no longer echoes of past ghosts. It was a different couple who walked the same old streets together. 


End file.
